Strawberry Jam
by jjhatter
Summary: A ridiculous little story of ridiculous circumstances; better summary contained inside. Rating is just to be safe. R&R, please!


Greetings, fellow looneys! This one-shot has been a pet-project of mine for quite some time, so, please, when/if you review, be nice. Now, for the boring things…

Rating: T (for safety purposes, mainly)

Disclaimers: I do not own a single character or place contained within! All rights for _Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland_ belong to Tim Burton, Disney, Lewis Carroll, and anyone else I failed to mention involved in the project.

Summary/Notes: Let me just point out that I get inspiration from the most bizarre places: about a year ago, my friend and fellow author Niphuria sent me a message…which has been lost to me. I do not recall the exact details of the message, but it concerned a story I had written/was writing. She had said something along the lines of "I'll pounce/I pounced on it like Chess on a strawberry-covered Mally!" That should be all the summation you fine readers require. Please, read and review…reviews are a way of saying, "Oh! Tis love, tis love, that makes the world go 'round!" Now, I hope you like…

**Strawberry Jam**

Before this tale can truly begin, one thing should certainly be said: it was the bread-and-butterfly's fault entirely.

It must also be made clear that the Mad Tea Party by the old windmill had never exactly been a place of restraint, but, regardless, honey and deranged hares should not mix.

Thackery Earwicket, the March Hare, had already eaten several pieces of toast with honey, when a rather large bread-and-butterfly had landed on the plate where the toast was. When it spread out its wings, the fantastic insect looked like just another slice of buttered toast. When the Hare had reached for another piece, he accidentally took hold of the creature's crusty wings. Frightened, the bread-and-butterfly flapped free, beating its wings into the March Hare's face.

To say this surprised Thackery would be putting it far too lightly: he was absolutely horrified.

"Gae!" he shrieked. "Th' toost! IT'S 'LIVE!"

Grabbing a spatula, the Hare took a swipe at the bug, which quickly fluttered out of reach. Jabbering and snarling Outlandish curses, the maddened hare tried again…and missed again.

"Thackery, Thackery! Please! Enough!" cried the Mad Hatter, trying, and failing, to suppress the laughter that came out of his mouth at the ridiculous scene.

The Hare heard nothing, taking a few more badly-aimed swipes at the infuriating insect.

The bread-and-butterfly, which had been enjoying itself, decided to take a little break. It settled on the rim of an open jar of strawberry jam, beside which the Dormouse, Mallymkun, lay curled up quietly in a profound sleep; she had grown used to the March Hare's antics, and rarely awoke to them.

With a sly smile, the Hare tip-toed up to the jar, and raised the spatula above his head…

And brought it down so hard, he smashed the jar to pieces, splattering fresh strawberry jam all over Mallymkun and the tablecloth.

Needless to say, the pin-sword carrying dormouse did not take well to such a rude awakening. The terrified screams of Thackery Earwicket were heard all over the Tulgey Wood as the white dormouse chased him, swinging her blade around wildly and roaring out hysterical, angry words.

Back at the table, while this went on, the Hatter had passed out, having laughed so hard he could not find air to breathe.

To add injury to insult (rather than the other way around), the bread-and-butterfly had gotten away.

Now, the Dormouse was inside the windmill, standing inside a cupboard above the Hare's sink, covered in sticky, half-dried, red jam, grumbling obscenely as she searched for some soap.

"Idiot Hare," she mumbled. "I just had this outfit washed…"

"Seriously, Mally? I never took you as one for such preening…"

Mallymkun sighed, not turning around.

"Don't you have better things to do than annoy me, Chessur?"

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe go and torment some small, fuzzy being?!"

"Doesn't annoying you count for that?"

"…Touché."

The Cheshire Cat laughed behind her.

"So," purred the cat, "how do you plan on getting out of this jam…if you'll pardon the pun?"

"I won't, but you've already said it, so it doesn't do me any good. And I don't honestly know…it appears that Thackery has run out of soap."

"Well, that must be upsetting…"

Mally groaned, jumping down and facing the cat angrily, scarlet-stained arms crossed over her chest. The frustrating feline floated above her, head placed contentedly in his paws, gazing at her with a characteristic grin and half-lidded eyes.

"Look, Chess," she snapped, "I'm not in the mood for any of your little games right now! I was having the most delightful dream about a certain Hatter…"

"Hatter?"

"…Adder. About a certain adder."

The cat raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"Since when are adders delightful? To a dormouse, no less?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter what I was dreaming about! The point is, how would you like to be awakened from a lovely dream covered from ears to tail tip in strawberry jelly?"

"Jam, actually."

"What's the difference?"

"I don't know, nor care. But you _still_ used the incorrect word."

Mally glared at the cat for a moment longer, crimson whiskers twitching wildly, and then whipped around with a huff, jumping down into the sink basin.

"Do something useful for a change," she said. "And turn on the water for me, will you? Hot, please."

The cat shrugged and floated closer, reaching downward to turn the hot water dial. Steaming, clear water rushed downward from the spigot.

"You know," he purred, "it doesn't really matter how hot that water is. You won't get much of anything off without the soap in the shape you're in."

"I know that, but I already told you: Thackery is out of soap. I'll just make do with what I have, and see if I can figure out a better way after I'm at least a little less sticky."

As Mally said this, she began to remove her jam-coated clothes; the jam had run down and she looked just as bad with them off as with them on. Now, not all animals in Underland wore clothes – the Cheshire Cat above her proved that fact – so it was not unheard of for a dormouse like herself to undress in the presence of another animal.

Besides, she figured, the cat had almost certainly seen "clothing-less" rodents before herself; to start with, he couldn't digest clothes. What was there to hide?

It was still rude of him to stare, though…

"Do you mind?" Mally growled, raising an eyebrow in his direction as she stepped into her "shower."

The cat looked at her with the coolest eyes he could muster.

"Do I mind? Certainly not."

Mally rolled her eyes.

"I meant, will you please go away, or at least turn invisible, or close your eyes, or…something, while I try to clean up?"

The cat blinked, and smiled just a tad wider, his infamous Cheshire grin showing off every single sharply-pointed tooth he had in his mouth. It was a silent message both understood: he wasn't leaving. Not yet.

Rolling her eyes again, the dormouse tried once more to focus on her shower, all the while unable to ignore the glowing, blue-green eyes that watched her every move out of the corner of her eye.

She sighed audibly with a sense of relief when, after a minute or two, they vanished.

She should have known better.

Chessur knew that, without soap, Mally's efforts were going to prove utterly unproductive. A hot shower would do her little good. No, there was only one way to "un-jam" her properly, at least in his mind.

She'd probably kill him for it later, but he'd take the chance.

Invisible, but not absent, he reached down to grasp both the dials on the sink, and turned them simultaneously.

Mallymkun, meanwhile, had been trying very hard to scrub away the jam on her arms with a bit of orange sponge that Tarrant had removed especially for her to bathe with. She scowled; the stuff _was_ coming off, little by little, but, by the time she finished with one arm, she knew that the water would be-

_Cold! COLD! **FREEZING COLD!**_

The dormouse with the crimson-tinted fur squeaked loudly, jumping out water fast as it went from hot and soothing to icy and biting. She panted as it turned off, and looked up as, with a wisp of blue-gray smoke, Chessur reappeared above her, smiling proudly.

"Why, you…you…you…!"

"Try 'despicable.'"

"Despicable cad…er, cat!"

"Wrong. Sneaky, maybe…"

"You…you _feline!_ You stinking, _slurvish, slurking_, nasty cat! Now I'm not only covered in jam, I'm FREEZING!"

"So I noticed," purred Chess, eyeing her as she shook with both fury and chills.

"Not only that," Mally continued to rave, "But the jam's all hard now! It'll take me days to get it all off!"

"Oh?" Chess said, touching down on the countertop beside the sink. "Are you sure?"

"OF COURSE I'M SURE," snarled Mallymkun, climbing out of the basin. "Look at me! I'm practically a walking, talking strawberry!"

Chess cocked his head to one side.

"I like strawberries," he said simply.

One of Mally's beady, black eyes twitched.

"What in _HENFAN_ does THAT have to do with **ME?!**"

Chessur's eyes narrowed, and his grin widened a bit more.

"I also like dormice," he growled, in the same tone he had spoken his previous statement.

Mally, who had been standing rigid with rage, now relaxed slightly, her angry eyes now widening. The cat chuckled and inched closer. She took a small step back.

"Chess?" she squeaked, nervously. "Don't look at me that way…"

The cat's eyes widened in mock surprise.

"What? No threats? How 'un-Mally' of you."

Mally didn't say a word. The cat inched even closer, tail beginning to wave about like a charmed snake…

And he pounced.

Mally yelped, dodging quickly to the side.

"Chessur! What in-?"

She was cut off by a paw pressing her down. Chess smiled innocently into her fruit-covered face.

"Oh, you know me better," he cooed. "Come now, don't worry, love. I won't bite."

Mally gulped, her breath beginning to relax from a hyperventilated state.

"Y-yeah? W-w-well, I can't be to sure of that right now, can I?"

Chessur shook his head and leaned in closer, to whisper in her ear.

"If I really wanted to eat you," he hissed. "I would never bite you. I would most certainly swallow you whole."

Mally squirmed.

"I could have lived without that information," she half-snarled.

"I know."

A pause.

"So…if you don't plan on killing me, why am I pinned down?"

Chessur's smile was now so vast it seemed to encompass his entire head.

"Just relax, love," he said, and opened his mouth.

Mallymkun squeaked with surprise as something damp, rough, and pink scraped across her face, lifting a good amount of red jam off as it went.

Chessur pulled back, licking his lips slowly, eyes closed. He purred loudly.

"You taste so _delicious…_"

Mally let out a sigh of both relief and frustration.

"Yeah, well…just don't get any ideas about making me a midday snack, all right?"

The cat rolled his eyes and picked her up in his paw, giving him a view of her entire body.

"Just relax," he said again. "I'll have you clean in no time."

Mally nodded, and the Cheshire Cat licked her again, this time across her abdomen. She bit her lip, refusing to giggle at the tickle it caused. Chessur smirked.

"What's the matter, dormousey?" he meowed. "Don't you trust me?"

Mally gulped and nodded.

"With my life."

The cat eyed her doubtfully.

"…Well, maybe not that much, but at least I know you don't plan on turning me into soup or something."

The cat just licked her again, this time across the arm she had been trying to scrub, removing what was left of the jam quite quickly. His purr changed into a low, rippling growl.

"You should be very glad I consider you a friend," he whispered. "Otherwise there would be much more than jam in my mouth right now."

Mally snorted.

"I am well aware of how appetizing you find me, cat. You've made that very clear. Please, just get me clean before Tarrant walks in and has a conniption, okay?"

Chess shrugged, lapping his tongue over the top of her head. Mally shivered; the feeling of the cat's tongue was strange, but not entirely unwelcome. It wasn't the first time he had "groomed" her, and she doubted it would be the last…he enjoyed doing it far too much.

"Do remind me to ask Tarrant where he got this jam," Chess said, finishing off what was on her head. "It's really quite nice, you know."

"Yes, I know; I'm still partially covered in it, remember? And he didn't get it anywhere; it's Thackery's jam. He made it for the palace, and brought a couple of jars back here for tea."

Chess paused, and then shrugged, returning his attention to her stomach.

"That explains a lot."

For a while there was silence. The cat had just finished off her face, and was about to start work on her legs when he sighed, sadly.

"What is it?"

"Oh, nothing…I just realized that the March Hare will probably never let me have a jar of this for my own."

Mally shrugged.

"You could always just get some from the Palace; you've filched enough things from there without getting caught."

Had he the capacity, Chess would have frowned. He licked Mally's leg slowly, almost sensually, pretending not to notice the shiver it caused to run up and down her spine.

"I do not 'filch' things from the Palace, my dear dormousey. I merely 'borrow' them; whatever I take, I return. That's why the Queen isn't bothered very much."

"No," Mally agreed with a giggle. "But I can assure you, Thackery is."

"Hm. I suppose he would be," Chess muttered and took the last of the jam from her leg. He shuddered violently with delight.

"Do you know something?"

"What?"

"I said, 'do you know something?'"

Mally rolled her eyes.

"Silly! Of course I know something! I know lots of somethings! The question is, which something are you talking about?"

Chess smiled back at her, amused by her response.

"Do you know what you taste like?"

"No," Mally said, shaking her head. "And I don't think I really want to know."

The cat shrugged again.

"Turn over," he said, "unless you want a strawberried spine."

Now it was Mallymkun's turn to shrug. She obeyed, lying down on her stomach, keeping her head turned to watch him.

The cat shuddered again as he took of the first bit.

"It's a pity Thackery probably won't let me have some jam of my own. I could make such delicious things with it…"

"Maybe for you…"

The cat laughed loudly.

"Nothing involving meat, I assure you. I was thinking of sweeter things. You know, tarts, cakes, etc., etc."

"Out of curiosity…"

"Which killed an acquaintance of mine…"

"…How are you going to clean off my tail? I doubt it'll be easy to lick it clean…"

"Oh, I have an idea."

Mally tilted her tiny head to one side.

"Why do I get the feeling it is an idea I won't enjoy?"

"Well, I've got the feeling it's an idea you'll positively hate."

"Then why do it?"

"See previous answer, dormousey."

Mally clucked her tongue.

"Will you ever stop calling me that?"

"Not likely my dear. Now, please, lie still, or I'll never get done."

Mally shut her mouth. With four quick, hard licks, the cat cleaned the jam from her back.

"Tail, please."

Chess smiled mischievously, and brought it into his mouth, closing his jaws around the thin, tender rope of flesh.

Mally's eyes widened briefly, then narrowed in irritation when she felt the cat suck on her tail.

"Chessur, I'm a dormouse, not a lollipop! Give me back my tail!"

The cat grinned back toothily, her tail half-visible between his teeth, and responded by continuing to slurp up the jam it held. Mally shut her eyes and shook her head, defeated; it figured that he would make her his own personal strawberry lolly.

After a short while, Chessur opened his mouth back up again, and Mally hurriedly jumped out of his grasp, before he could lick her again, or do anything else to her.

"Well," she said. "I hope you've enjoyed yourself, because I assure you, that sort of thing won't be happening again anytime soon."

"You didn't like it?"

"You cleaned off the jam, yes, but now I'm sticky…with your saliva! I'll smell like a feline for weeks! At least THIS I can wash off easily…"

Chessur blinked, but said nothing, floating back up into the air.

"Thanks for the help," Mally said, turning the water of the sink back on herself before jumping into the basin once again. "Return to whatever dark lair you call home, cat. Goodbye."

Chess rolled his eyes.

"You're welcome," he drawled, carelessly. "And it was my pleasure really; you didn't let me say so earlier, so I'll tell you now…"

The Cheshire Cat vanished…and then, SWOOMPH, his head reappeared floating near Mally, just out of the water that gushed down on her.

"Even without that jam," he hissed, "you taste just like a strawberry."

In response, Mally splashed a pawful of water into his eye, giggling as he hissed in annoyance before evaporating out of sight.

Later, the white dormouse – now perfectly clean and wearing her usual clothes once more, which the Hatter had washed – lay on her back in her tea-leaf bed inside her teapot, staring up through the open top.

"Hatter?" she called out.

Tarrant Hightopp's pale face peeped in on her.

"Yes, Mally?"

"I've been thinking: there's something I'd like for my little pot."

"Oh? What would that be?"

"Would you believe, a bathtub?"

The Hatter laughed.

"I believe that Thackery and I can find something suitable," he said after he had calmed down a mite. "Do you want it now?"

"No, it can wait. I'm clean already."

The Hatter smiled, nodded, and then sat back, his face vanishing from Mally's sight.

Mally smiled a small smile of her own, closing her eyes for a nap.

_If they can't find a suitable tub, a Cheshire Cat will do just as well…_


End file.
